


Bunny Party

by nothing11920 (amporatrash)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hanzo in Lingerie, Lingerie, Other, idk this is completely innocent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 03:08:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10913070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amporatrash/pseuds/nothing11920
Summary: based on this image:http://danbooru.donmai.us/data/__d_va_and_hanzo_overwatch_drawn_by_ecila__c61d4196fb3f244c0973de51f37a5fce.pngi do not ship hanzo and d.va in any way and couldn't imagine the above picture as anything but innocent.  so i wrote this.





	Bunny Party

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [d.va and hanzo overwatch](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/290646) by ecila. 



She gets bored and upset, you've seen it.  
  
Hana Song doesn't do well around the base.  It isn't that she's not social, or that there's nothing to do... After all, she can fill her spare time with as many games as she wants.  Really, what's causing her trouble is the lack of people her age.  
  
She spends most of her time in her room, talking to her friends over various internet applets, streaming video games and doing voice and video calls.  You know this for a very specific reason, and it's not because you asked.  
  
You don't know why, but at mealtimes in the mess hall, she always sits beside you.  You don't really know how one person can eat, type on a phone, and hold an independent conversation all at once, but she certainly manages it, and in spite of how monosyllabic you are, she keeps talking to you.  
  
You want to ask her to leave you alone.  Doesn't she know what kind of man you are?  She should be intimidated by you, not drawn to you.  All you can do is hope that it's not some kind of schoolgirl crush; certainly she's not a schoolgirl anymore, but she is only nineteen, and as far as partners go, that is far too young for you (for anything serious, anyway).    
  
Besides, you already have your hands full in that regard, sort of.  You're not completely sure, but all you know is that there is not room at your romantic table for a nineteen-year-old Korean video game junkie.  You know full well she's more than that, of course.  She's a soldier, and a champion.  You're as aware of her history as you are of anyone else's on the base, perhaps moreso because she talks to you so much.    
  
At some point, you're going to have to pull her aside and have a serious talk with her...  She cannot be seen with you as much as she is.  Already, people are starting to talk and Doctor Ziegler in particular gives you the dirtiest looks whenever you pass her by.  She has numerous reasons for doing that naturally, but these days those looks seem to have intensified in severity and frequency.  Your brother has teased you as well, on numerous occasions.  This will not stand.  
  
Finally, you decide to do it one evening when she catches you in the hallway outside your quarters.  She was clearly looking for you, dressed in a baggy pink hoodie with her white rabbit logo on the front, and a pair of wildly-patterned pajama pants.  You were headed back from the showers, a damp towel over your arm and a small bag in your hand, and she has no trouble at all bounding right up to you.  
  
"Hey!" she chimes.  "I've been looking for you."  
  
"Oh?" is all you say, though you fix her with the same stern look as usual.  
  
"Yeah!  I was wondering...  I'm having a sleepover, in my room.  Do you wanna come?"  
  
...oh, now.  This will not do at all.  Jesse McCree is passing by and stares at you both, though she seems utterly oblivious to his presence.  Luckily he keeps walking, though you can tell by the look on his face that he's not pleased by what he's seeing.  Fantastic.  The last thing you needed was that oaf's judgment.  
  
"Hana, I do not think-"  
  
"I've got snacks, and movies, and some new games...  Remember that series I told you about?  Dynasty Warriors?  It's a classic, you really do need to try it."  
  
You've told her you were never into video games when you were young, and she's convinced that you've missed out.  In fact, she's convinced you've been shorted a lot in your life, based on the tiny amount of information you've admitted to her.  Damn though, this moment is incredibly awkward for you.  
  
"Hana, I-"  
  
"Please?"  God, the look she gives you.  It makes you feel as if you're sinking into the floor.  
  
"Hana, listen," you begin again, and she begins to look disappointed as you speak.  You've lowered your tone, softened it a bit, as it's like her pleading expression has taken the wind out of you.  "I do not know why you have attached yourself to me...but you should stop.  People are beginning to talk."  
  
She has the audacity to giggle at you.  "I know.  It's stupid, right?"  
  
You frown.  "Stupid...?"  
  
"I'm not into you like _that_ , that's crazy.  You're old enough to be my dad!"    
  
...okay, you're relieved on one hand and mildly offended on the other.  She's not wrong, but still.  Something in you is rustled.  You'll get over it, of course, but what a blow to your titanic, damaged ego.  
  
"Why then?" you ask.  "Why do you always come to me?"  
  
She fidgets with a lock of her hair for a moment, tucking it behind her ear, before lightly clasping her hands in front of herself and shrugging.  "I'unno.  You remind me of someone.  He died, when I was little...  But.  My dad had a brother.  My uncle.  He used to watch over me when I was small, and my parents would be working.  He was a lot like you.  Grouchy.  Stern.  Didn't talk much.  But he was the best at games, and he always listened to what I had to say, like you do."  
  
She looks at you again.  There's a sharply-honest expression on her face, bright-eyed, and slighty afraid.  She's worried about what you're going to say, and something hard in you seems to break.  
  
...you will never have children.  You know that for a fact, but sometimes, you've imagined yourself as a father, imagined what it would be like.  You wanted to be better than your own father in every way, and though you really have no idea how to raise a child, or even how to freely express compassion or affection, you still imagined you'd be far better at it than he was.  You only think of this because the way she looks at you makes you wonder if this is what it would feel like to have a daughter or even a niece her age.  
  
You think of this, because you know you are going to buckle.  There is no doubt about it now.  You open your door briefly and she hangs her head, thinking you're about to go inside.  You don't.  You drop your bag and towel off just inside the door and then close it again...  You're wearing a black sweatshirt, regulation dark gray sweatpants, and a pair of plain pale blue house slippers...  Your hair is loose around your shoulders.  
  
"Alright," you say, stepping toward her.  "What movies do you have?"  
  
She lights up.  You had no idea that another person could have such a reaction to you, but she does.  "C'mon, I'll show you!" she chimes, and when she bounds off, you follow, your hands in your pockets.  You just wanted to sit quietly in your room and read, but...  
  
Well, at least you can say you aren't going to be alone for the evening.  
  
You truly were not prepared.  
  
You've never watched these kinds of movies.  Well, you've never really bothered to watch many movies at all.  They're stupid, but they're also engrossing, and you find yourself conversing with her over ridiculous plot points and character interactions.  It just doesn't make a lot of sense to you, and she finds that incredibly amusing.    
  
She asks if she can do your nails.  There really isn't anything wrong with them; they're well-kept, clean, trimmed.  She wants to paint them, and you sigh and tell her that as long as it's a shade of blue, you don't mind.  Anything red or pink would clash uncomfortably with your wardrobe.    
  
As she gives you a manicure, she attempts to draw gossip out of you.  She's never seen you with anyone else.  A lot of other people on the base are paired off, except you.  You could grumble about it and yell at her for asking, or you could follow your other impulse and sigh, and tell her the truth.    
  
No one is interested, because you're a monster.  They all know what you did to your brother, and they want nothing to do with you because of that.  Whether or not that's the truth, that's the story you're sticking with, and she's quiet for a little bit and almost frowning as she finishes up your nails and takes in what you've said.  
  
"Well," she finally says.  "We're just going to have to show your potential mates that you're not a monster."  
  
"Hmph.  That would be a lie."  
  
"I don't think so."  She caps the bottle, and gives you a shrewd look.  
  
"And why not?"  
  
"If you were, you wouldn't be here with me right now."  
  
She has a point, and you kind of hate it.  She hums, and puts her chin against her fist as she stares at you, clearly thinking.  You don't know why, but you feel a tiny spark of terror down deep in your soul, like she's going to do something that will somehow warp you inexplicably from this night forth.  Your fears are confirmed as a bright look of revelation crosses her features.    
  
She knows exactly what you need, or so she says.  
  
Oh, you fight this one.  You fight it tooth and nail.  In the end she's more tenacious than you are, and you give in.  NO PHOTOS, you demand.  She cannot breathe a word of this to anyone.  Don't worry, she says.  She's going to go through it with you.  She has something similar in her own size.  
  
A fan sent it to her.  She says she doesn't know why she's hung onto it like she has, but she's glad now that she did.  It's far too big for her, a stylized pink bustier with a ruffled bra and panties, a garter belt, and thigh-high pink ruffled stockings.  It's not the fact that it's lingerie that strikes you as unseemly; it's just so soft-looking.  You are not a soft man, not in any way, and yet she wants you to put it on for some unfathomable reason.  You tell her that you're doing so under protest, and as you step into the tiny bathroom to change into it, she lays out a ruffled pink lace teddie ensemble on her own bed.  
  
It doesn't really strike you as creepy.  Why?  You don't know.  You're just not thinking about this the way most men would, likely because you don't function like most men do.  You pull the panties on first... They are far too silky, and they cling to your hips, and they definitely show a bit too much.    
  
They sort of feel nice though.  Not that you're going to say that.  
  
The bustier is a bit of a challenge at first.  You have to figure it out, and then you have to get it clasped shut on your own.  It's tight to the point of not being very comfortable, but when you look at yourself in the mirror while wearing it, you nearly double-take.  It has cinched in your already-tapered waist, making you look a bit more slender than you are.  
  
The bra fits...if you clasp it on its very last row of fasteners.  Your pectoral muscles are thick enough to practically fill it out, which...  Hm.  You do have a nice chest.  You always have.  
  
Garter belt... Stockings.  Your fingers are rough against the gauzy nylon, but you manage to slide them on and fasten them to the garters.  
  
It takes you longer than it takes her.  In fact, she's hassling you through the door before you've halfway finished.    
  
"ARE YOU DONE YET??"  
  
"NO!"  
  
"WELL HURRY UP, I WANNA SEE YOU!"  
  
"BE PATIENT, THIS IS NOT A PROCESS WITH WHICH I AM FAMILIAR!"  
  
"PSSHH, I DON'T BELIEVE THAT FOR A SECOND!"  
  
"WILL YOU STOP BERATING ME??  THIS IS INANE."  
  
"YOUR FACE IS INANE!"  Mad giggles.  
  
All you can do is sigh.  
  
By the time you're finished, you half-wonder if this set wasn't made for a male physique, as it fits you far better than it should.  Finally, you're ready to emerge.  
  
"YOU HAD BETTER NOT HAVE YOUR PHONE IN HAND WHEN I STEP OUT THERE."  
  
"NO PICTURES!  I ALREADY PROMISED!"  
  
Time to see if she's as trustworthy as you hope.  (It doesn't strike you at first that this is an exercise in vulnerability for you, but it is.  Shocking, but you've passed.  Your time spent with Zenyatta was spent well.)  
  
Sure enough, she doesn't have her phone with her when you open the door.  Instead, she squeals wildly and bounds over to you, fluttering around you like a butterfly.  She's in awe.  You suppose it's worth it, to see that look on her face... It's like you've made her year, just dressing up like this with her.  
  
She seats you on the bed, brushes out your hair, puts bunny ears on you.  She's wearing a pair too, along with her own gauzy little number, but she's so light and girlish and so blatantly trusting of you that you don't find it appealing at all.  It's like you can't.  
  
You have never been more certain in your life that you prefer men.  
  
She breaks out the ice cream and two controllers.  Time to lose spectacularly to her in a few rounds of whatever it is she decides to queue up on one of her many consoles.  
  
She schools you in the art of gaming.  Eventually you have to take off the bra and bustier; they're just too tight.  But yeah, that's you in a pair of pink panties, stockings, a garter, and some damn bunny ears, playing video games and eating junkfood with a nineteen-year-old girl.  
  
With a fellow soldier.  
  
With a friend.  
  
She tells you to keep the outfit, and to try it out on your next romantic interest.  You tell her that it's out of the question if only because the chances of you finding a romantic interest are less than zero percent.  Still, she ushers you out the door with it on under your clothing, and you make your way back to your room that next morning looking like you haven't slept at all, because you haven't.  
  
You don't realize it until you reach your room and shut the door, but you had those bunny ears on the whole march back.    
  
No wonder Jack told you he wanted to see you in his office later.  
  
Well.  You're fucked.


End file.
